Page 15

At the Gas Station Across the Street RO M I NA PA LM E RO

“Do you like coconuts?”

Liquid dribbles from the corners of her mouth.

13

She tells me she was born in the Philippines. I imagine her— small, hair black as ribbons and messy in the rear, feet roughened by play and knees darkened by dirt. She tells me she used to steal her grandfather’s machete, climb coconut trees, and totter away with the fruits in her skinny palm tree arms. And I think of a girl on the corner of a beach, machete the size of her leg glinting in the sun, coconuts strewn at her feet. She tilts her head back to gulp at the oasis of coconut water and it is as though brand-new oxygen is entering her lungs.

Panku Vol. 54 Issue 1  

I am not one for formalities or for long letters. I don’t want to beat around the bush with this, either, so I give you the following: I a...

Panku Vol. 54 Issue 1  

I am not one for formalities or for long letters. I don’t want to beat around the bush with this, either, so I give you the following: I a...

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